


we learn to live without

by pdameron



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, John Silver's Internalized Ableism, M/M, Pining, Treasure Island Whomst?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 06:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pdameron/pseuds/pdameron
Summary: It’s only once Silver's climbed on the rail, about to make his escape, that he dares to glance towards the captain’s cabin.HIs eyes meet Captain Flint’s from across the deck -And the world bursts into color.(In which Flint and Silver are soulmates, but Thomas and Flint were soulmates first.)





	we learn to live without

**Author's Note:**

> no big bang is complete without a soulmate au!
> 
> huge shoutout to @beneaththeblacksails on tumblr for the amazing edit for this piece!
> 
> it's that soulmate au where you see color when you meet your soulmate, only your colors don't fade when they die because i HATE THAT IT'S SO SAD

Silver knows as soon as he sees Billy hit the deck that he’s been found out. 

He’s only survived this long thanks to his knack for reading people: the furrow of their brows; the twitches in their faces; the way they hold themselves at any given moment. And Billy? Billy’s easier to interpret than most.

He weaves through the men, careful not to move too quickly lest his growing panic begin to show. Hopefully, though, they're too preoccupied with their drink and hypothetical wealth to pay attention to the frantic looks he keeps throwing behind him as Billy gets closer and closer.

It’s only once he’s climbed on the rail, escape at hand, that he dares to glance towards the captain’s cabin.

Silver’s eyes meet Captain Flint’s from across the deck -

And the world bursts into color.

Silver’s so shocked, so completely blindsided, that he slips. What was going to be a dive off the ship becomes a flailing belly-flop. 

He can only muster one coherent thought as he careens toward the water: _so this is blue._

*****

“What the _fuck_ do you mean you can’t go through with it?” 

Max looks more enraged that Silver can ever remember making a woman, and that is truly a feat, considering that time the Marquesa de Vesper found him sneaking out of her husband’s bed with a sack full of her jewelry. 

“I know this seems suspicious, but there were unforeseen circumstances - ”

“Captain Vane had his hands around my throat not twenty minutes ago, and now you tell me you're backing out? Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?”

“Might I remind you that _you_ were the one who stopped me from trying to help you?” Silver says, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Idelle gave me a machete, you know.”

Max rolls her eyes, fairly stomping over to the table to pour herself a much needed glass of wine. “As if you could overtake Charles Vane. You’d have been dead in minutes.”

“Look, you can blame it all on me. Tell them your source backed out, double crossed you. Surely they can’t hold that against you.”

“Vane - ”

“Rackham will reason with him, just like he did before.”

Max slams her goblet down. “How convenient, that none of the Ranger’s crew know who you are. It is only I who will have to manage the fallout of your cowardice.”

Silver bristles at that. Yes, he _is_ a coward, but for once that has nothing to do with his actions. 

“It’s not cowardice. Besides, I think you’ll be alright, given that your soulmate is Rackham’s sour-faced shadow.”

Max scowls at him - no doubt irritated that he’d noticed the way Bonny had stared at her, or how her own eyes keep lingering on the more brightly colored things about the room (much like himself, if he’s being honest; it had been a fucking miracle he’d made it to the brothel without getting derailed by a brightly colored bird). She moves into his space, and for a moment he is so diverted by the way the sun hits her dark eyes - first they seemed almost black, but now they’re so much lighter, what would he call that color? - that he can’t focus on what they’re discussing. 

“If you are not afraid, then why do this? I deserve the truth. And do not think I will not see a lie for what it is. You are not the only one who can spin a tale to suit their needs.”

Silver bites his lip, considering. He’s never been one to confide in others. He’s betrayed enough people himself; he knows better than to trust anyone. Max especially strikes Silver as someone who is nearly as opportunistic as him.

But at the same time, he wants to talk about it. He wants to tell someone, to share this quite literally life changing moment. It's honestly a bit pathetic that Max is the only person he has right now, and she barely even likes him. 

Max, who has been watching him mull things over, makes a small noise of understanding, her eyes widening. “This is serious, isn’t it?”

This shift in tone is what seals Silver’s fate. It’s been so long since he’s had a remotely sympathetic ear from anyone. 

“Captain Flint is my soulmate,” the words - which have been circling through his head in a constant loop for the past several hours - come out in a rush, the relief at finally saying it out loud enough to make his shoulders slump. “I only just found out.”

“Holy _shit,”_ Max breathes. She slumps onto the bed, as though she needs to be seated to fully take in this news. Silver relates: he’d been running on adrenaline when it had happened, but now that he’s had a moment to stop and consider the implications of all this, he’s a tad overwhelmed.

“Agreed,” Silver replies, sitting next to her heavily. “I don’t much fancy starting off our predestined relationship by completely fucking him over.”

“I never took you for one to hold the idea of soulmates in such esteem,” Max observes, peering over at him. 

Silver shrugs. “I didn’t. Don't, really. But - god, the things I’ve seen, even after so little time… it’s so much more than I ever realized it could be.”

Max nods. “This morning I was distracted by a dandelion for several minutes. I felt like a child all over again. Everything has changed in so little time. Anne gave that to me. I will always be grateful to her for that, no matter how our relationship may unfold in the future.” She sighs, resigned. “I suppose I understand your reluctance to sell the schedule. But this doesn’t mean I’m not still cross with you.”

“That’s fair,” Silver concedes. But in all honesty he doubts either of them would be interested in absconding from Nassau with their fortunes anymore, at least not if it means fucking over or abandoning their soulmates.

“And I’ll let you decide how to deal with Vane. He’ll be waiting at the wrecks at sundown.”

Silver groans, flopping onto his back. “Fuck.”

*****

Silver has never been one to stop and smell the roses, so to speak. He’s always been moving, grabbing the next opportunity by the horns and running to wherever is safest in the moment. It was as though if he stayed in one place for too long, if he just _stopped_ for even a second, everything he’d tried to leave behind would swallow him whole. Quiet contemplation has always been something to avoid in his book, but there’s little else for Silver to do as he waits for Vane to arrive, his messengers paid off and waiting nearby. 

He sits on a rock, staring out as the sun begins to dip beneath the horizon. It’s the first sunset he’s seen with color, and it is without question the most beautiful sight he’s encountered by far. The realization that he’ll get to see this every day for the rest of his life is a heady thing. 

But even while he stares awestruck at the sea, as the colors in the sky shift and merge and reflect onto the water in such a wondrous way, Silver’s thoughts are stuck on Flint. 

Where is he now? Is he watching this same sunset, just as amazed and reverent as Silver? Has he been as distracted as Silver, encountering new colors, seeing people as if for the first time? 

That gives Silver pause.

What _does_ Flint look like? Silver’s only ever seen him in shades of grey, even when he was covered in Singleton’s blood. He caught a glint of what he’s now realized was dark orange hair, but beyond that he really doesn’t know. For that matter, what does _Silver_ look like? He’s been told he has blue eyes by people who have their colors, but he hadn’t even thought to look in the mirror earlier in Max’s room. 

Silver’s distracted from his mild narcissism by the sight of Rackham and Vane approaching the wrecks. He finds himself feeling grateful for Rackham’s ridiculous hairstyle, as that distinct silhouette is what prompts him to move into his hiding spot.

He’s a bit less grateful when it turns out that Vane is even more _fucking psychotic_ than he’d initially anticipated, and he has to turn tail and run for it when the madman stabs his messenger.

Even if Flint weren’t his soulmate, Silver would take him over that lunatic.

Of course, Billy shooting at him isn’t ideal, and it’s a real shame that he has to burn the page - lest Vane catch him before he gets to Flint - but Silver’s sure that once he can explain the situation to Flint the captain will understand. 

In all the times he’d imagined meeting his soulmate, when the world hadn’t quite yet managed to defer his dreams, he’d never pictured his other half would be angry (disappointed, maybe). A knife had never once figured into his daydreams, either. 

Flint can’t possibly think Silver believes he’d actually kill him, given what they are to each other, but the dagger pressed to his adam’s apple certainly keeps him on topic: he’s quick to explain what he’s done with the page, and remind him of the danger they’re in with Vane prowling the wrecks. 

Flint pushes away from the jagged boulder, dragging Silver with him by the shirt. Once they’re away from the rock formation he shoves him toward Billy and forces him to trail behind. 

It’s only once the Wrecks are firmly behind them and Nassau town is in sight that Silver scurries up to walk alongside Flint, electing to ignore the side-eyed glare he gets for his efforts.

“I was going to give it to you. The page, I mean. I told Vane as much. If he hadn’t flown off the handle like that, I wouldn’t have had to burn it.” 

The last thing he wants is for Flint to think he’s the sort of person who’d fuck over his own soulmate. To be fair, he’s fucked over his fair share of people, but even he wouldn’t cross that line. Probably. 

“Why would you do that?” Billy asks, having caught up with Silver fairly quickly thanks to his unreasonably long legs. 

“Yes, why would you have given it up so easily?” Flint adds in.

Silver frowns, confused. “What do you mean, _why_?”

He’d think it was fairly obvious.

Flint gives him an unimpressed look, as though he can’t believe how stupid Silver is being. He glances over at Billy, and suddenly Silver understands: Flint doesn’t want the other man to know they’re soulmates. 

It makes sense, he supposes. A man like Captain Flint must have a long list of enemies; it wouldn’t do to expose such a weakness, even to his crew. Perhaps especially his crew: Silver has seen first hand their mistrust of and resentment for the captain. 

“Oh. I - uh, I hadn’t realized, when I first took the page, what it meant to you all. How long you’d been searching for it. I couldn’t just take that from you, not after hearing that speech and seeing how thrilled the men were.”

A blatant lie, of course, but Silver doesn’t think it’s too bad, given how Flint’s put him on the spot like this.

Flint certainly doesn’t seem impressed with his tale, that’s for sure, but Billy definitely seems to relax at his words. Perhaps his bullshitting will have some use after all, if it can turn Billy to his side.

They arrive at the tavern, and Flint instructs Billy to take Silver into one of the back rooms for safekeeping. Billy grabs his arm, but Silver shrugs him of, moving to where Flint is readying his horse.

“Wait - don’t you - ”

“What?” Flint snaps. Silver stares at him, baffled. 

“Don’t you want to talk? About…” he glances over his shoulder at Billy, still in earshot. “Things?”

Flint puts a foot in the stirrup, lifting himself up and mounting the horse. He doesn’t even look at Silver, instead adjusting his reins. “I assure you, Mr. Silver, there is nothing I have to say to you which can’t wait till morning. I think you’ve taken up enough of my time tonight.”

He rides off without another word or a backwards glance, and Silver tries not to be too put out by this blatant dismissal. Flint has a right to be angry, he supposes. He knows, after all, that the only reason Silver didn’t fuck them all over was because Flint was his soulmate. It might not have been the best first impression.

*****

Captain Flint is striking in the sunlight. His hair and beard are like nothing he’s seen on anyone else, and his eyes seem to be ever shifting between a pale blue and bright green. Even the blood on his face is exceptionally vibrant. 

Silver wonders if Flint is assessing him in the same way as he writes down what he remembers of the Urca schedule.

But Flint’s still angry with him, Silver can tell. He supposes he understands, though considering they’re meant to spend the rest of their lives together (according to all the fairytales and stories he’s heard along the years) he’d hoped the captain might have cut him a bit of slack. 

It doesn’t help that Silver withholds part of the schedule. Flint, he can trust not to kill him. The rest of them? Not as much.

“If I were to write it all down, then what's to stop you from killing me right here?”

He explains his reasoning for staying on Flint’s crew - if Flint doesn’t want the others to know about the two of them, better he make it seem as though the gold is his only priority - without taking his eyes off Flint’s back. Even the black of his coat seems different, somehow, now that the rest of the colors contrast with it. 

“And when the Urca’s ours? What’s to stop me from killing you anyway?”

Silver smirks slightly. Flint certainly is laying it on thick. He still thinks the performance is unnecessary, but he’s willing to play along for now. “Well, that’s a few weeks from now, isn’t it? We might be friends by then.”

He pastes on a friendly smile, and the teasing grin he gets from Flint in return is - well, it’s certainly something. Silver definitely stares at the curve of his mouth a hair too long. 

Afterward, when Billy orders Silver to follow him, he glances at Flint, questioning. He gets no outward response, and with Gates's insistence he’s forced to either tag along with the giant or make a scene. He stomps after Billy, infuriated.

It’s been well over a day, and Flint still hasn’t acknowledged what Silver is to him. 

He’s beginning to wonder if Flint wants a soulmate at all.

*****

Silver spends the next several days trying to prove his worth to Billy, canvassing the men and weeding out any possible mutineers or rabble rousers. It’s tedious work, no matter how entertaining it is to hear Dobbs describe Flint’s undead powers. Still, if he’s going to stick around for the foreseeable future, it would do him well to endear himself to the bosun. 

He also tries just chatting with the man when they get a spare moment, trying to forge a companionship the old fashioned way. 

“What color do you suppose Flint’s hair is? I’ve never seen a color like that.”

Billy gives him a side-eyed, unimpressed sort of look. Which is unfair, Silver thinks, since he likes to think his perceptiveness when it comes to gauging whether or not someone has their colors is at least a little impressive. He doesn’t even ask how Silver knew; how is Silver supposed to show off how clever he is if Billy doesn’t give him the opportunity?

“You’ve never seen someone with red hair before?” 

“The closest I’ve seen is Anne Bonny, and even hers isn’t the same shade as Flint’s. I’m just curious.” He doesn’t mention that he’s only had his colors for a few days. That can stay between him and Flint for now.

“It’s auburn,” Billy replies, looking at least a little amused by Silver’s wide-eyed, guileless schtick. Silver counts it as a win.

Gates he’s sure will be a tougher nut to crack, but he’ll get there eventually. 

It’s as he’s watching Billy debate the merits of a fuck tent for careening that he gets his first real hint of what might be driving Flint.

“Where’s Flint?” he asks the man standing next to him, a short fellow who goes by Muldoon. He assumes the captain is with Miss Guthrie or even Mr. Scott, going over whatever guns they need, but he’d rather talk about Flint than think about how he’s going to cook a pig for the first time in his life. He’s never even _eaten_ pork. 

“Rumor is he’s got some puritan witch hidden away inland. Goes to visit her whenever we’re in port.”

And that - that explains quite a bit, actually. Of course Flint would feel strange about finding his soulmate if he already has someone waiting for him. The way he’s held Silver at arm’s length makes total sense: surely he’d have to talk about this with this woman, whoever she is. Silver’s heard of marriages being torn apart after one of the couple meets their soulmate. Should he find Flint, tell him he doesn’t mean him or his - wife? lover? - any ill will?

He’s still considering the implications of his soulmate having a partner as he attempts to spit roast the pork. He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice that Flint has arrived until he’s saving him from Muldoon’s shit-induced wrath. 

Silver doesn’t quite know what to make of the fact that the first remotely kind - if you can call this kindness - thing his soulmate has done for him is teach him how to to cook a fucking pig. 

It’s only when he hears Morley and Billy bickering that he finally comes up with an excuse to go and talk to Flint, under the guise of discussing cooking techniques.

“Billy appears to be straining at the seams. I thought maybe we ought to have - ”

“Stop,” Flint cuts him off. “There is no we. Billy Bones is a dutiful bosun who commands enormous respect from his crew as well as myself. I trust him a thousand times more than I would a rodent like yourself.”

Silver can’t figure out if Flint is keeping up appearances for the sake of it, or if he’s decided after speaking with his woman to ignore their bond. Either way, there most certainly is a ‘we’, as far as Silver and the powers that be are concerned. 

“Both our futures depend on this,” Silver continues without hesitation. Surely Flint can understand that their two futures will be intertwined no matter how he tries to deny it. What happens to Flint will affect Silver in some way, he’s sure, and vice versa.

“I haven’t decided yet whether you even have a future, but I can tell you this: trying to play me against my own crew will not help your cause. Turn your pig, it’s almost done.”

It’s a clear dismissal, and Silver goes back to his work with an irritated huff. He’s not trying to play Flint against anyone, for fuck’s sake. There’s only one side he’s on, and it’s his own. Flint now happens to be a part of him. Therefore: Silver is on Flint’s side by extension. Surely that can’t be so difficult to understand. 

It’s much easier to think about Flint as he turns the spit than to wonder how his mother would feel about him even touching pork. Best not to dwell on that, on what a betrayal it feels like to do this. She’s dead and he’s not; if she weren’t gone, maybe he never would have ended up on this crew in the first place. 

At least he gets to prove to Flint his cleverness later on, tossing the cleaver onto the sand for him to use to amputate Randall’s leg. It pays off, as well, as Flint finally approaches him regarding Billy, and he in turn learns that this “Barlow” the bosun and Morley had been discussing in secret is most likely Flint’s woman. 

Mrs. Barlow. She must be quite a woman, to capture the heart of the infamous Captain Flint. Even moreso to make him ignore his own soulmate.

*****

That Flint leaves him behind on the hunt for the Andromache, _chained to a fucking settee_ , irritates Silver beyond words. 

The only silver lining in it all is that he gets to see Max again when Guthrie ropes him into her and Bonny’s schemes. He does his part, drops the right hints to Hamund, and sneaks into the brothel afterward, where he finds Max in her room tending to a blackened eye and split lip.

Silver winces, closing the door behind him. “I was so sure I wouldn’t have to worry about you.”

She glances up at him in the mirror, a smirk playing at her lips. “You didn’t, really. Any threat to my safety was largely neutralized once I brokered a deal. No charge for the girls’ services until Captain Vane or Mr. Rackham feel the debt has been repaid. Noonan’s death cemented that. Besides, once Rackham learned what I am to Anne, my safety became a priority.”

“Then what happened to your eye? Or your lip, for that matter?” Silver asks, moving further into the room and crouching down next to her stool. He doesn’t offer to help; if he were her, he’d want to take care of himself.

Max grimaces. “Some members of the crew were easier to convince than others. Mr. Hamund in particular was not pleased when he learned that I myself was not on the table. What you see is the result of his attempts to force himself on me, before Anne stopped him.”

“Shit,” Silver curses, sitting on the ground and resting his elbows on his knees. “If it’s any consolation, your Miss Bonny is in the process of eliminating those crewman as we speak.”

A small, pleased smile graces Max’s face, as though Bonny murdering Hamund were some sort of romantic overture. “It has not been easy, attempting to navigate this thing between Anne and I. She seems reluctant to even look at me most days, concerned with how I fit into her life with Jack. Still, the ferocity with which she is determined to protect me gives me hope.”

Silver leans his back against the leg of her vanity, fiddling with the beaded hem of her robe. He can safely say that gold is much prettier with color than without, though the shine has always been appealing. “I seem to be having a similar problem, though without any of your progress.”

He explains what’s been happening with Flint, and Max hums thoughtfully. She hands him a brush, and he dutifully moves behind her to comb through her curls. 

“He was concerned for your safety. This is why he left you behind,” She replies, trying to reassure him.

“He was concerned for the safety of the _schedule_ , not me. What kind of soulmate - ” He pauses mid-brush. “Wait. Have you told anyone about Flint and I?”

It's not quite trust between them. They'd stumbled together at just the right time, and, faced with few options, had had no choice but to lean on one another temporarily. It's - something, Silver's sure, perhaps the beginning of a friendship, but certainly not trust.

Max gives him and unimpressed look. “ _Non_. Have you told anyone about Anne and I?”

“No, of course not.” He continues with his ministrations, the elephant in the room taken care of. It’s then that he realizes he can see himself in Max’s mirror. “...Is that what I look like?”

Max turns around, quizzical. “Had you not thought to look before?”

He leans over her shoulder, staring at himself. It’s odd; how a face that he’s so used to can look so different. The most startling change is his eyes, of course, but it’s strange to see himself as anything other than a light gray. Still, he can’t spend all his time staring at every minute alteration in his appearance, so he changes the subject.

“So, how is Rackham handling life as an ‘innkeep’?”

She lets out a string of French expletives, and he listens dutifully as she rants about Rackham’s ineptitude, braiding her hair and humming in agreement when his input is needed. It’s nice to just _be_ , without constantly scheming and figuring out how to survive. It’s also entertaining to see the different shades of brown in Max’s hair, where before it was all just black to him.

Of course, Eleanor Guthrie comes in and ruins his peace just as he’s finished tucking in the last of Max’s little braids. “What the fuck are you doing here? Get back to the tavern.”

Silver groans at the thought of being stuck back in that small office with Randall, but nevertheless follows her order. The more he endears himself to her, the better off he’ll be with Flint, he’s sure. Maybe he’ll try and stroke her ego a bit later tonight. 

“Until next time, Max.”

Max smiles at him, and he’s pleased to note that it seems genuine. “Good luck, Mr. Silver.”

*****

Silver can’t suppress the small thrill he feels when he’s summoned to Flint’s cabin. It’s been days since Flint has so much as looked as him. Maybe now that they’re away from Nassau and his wife (at least, Silver thinks she’s his wife), Flint will be willing to actually talk about their soulbond. 

Then he hears that Gates has come over from the Ranger, and he knows he won’t be so lucky. 

Flint doesn’t bother with pleasantries, immediately demanding the rest of the schedule. The fact that he doesn’t necessarily trust Silver to be correct, pulling out a list of his own possible routes, is a tad insulting, but he pushes through it nonetheless, electing to believe it’s an act for Gates’s sake. He knows he’s right; he won’t let Flint down.

He tries not to dwell on how many excuses he makes for Flint. 

As soon as Flint figures out the Urca’s headed for Division Bay, he hands Silver the new course and dismisses him. That’s all well and good, but Silver’s not finished. 

He’s not “the thief’ anymore; the schedule isn’t hanging over their heads, preventing Flint from acknowledging what Silver is to him. With time - and a hell of a lot of money - the few crew members who do resent him for stealing the page will surely move on, especially if they knew he was their captain’s soulmate. Maybe it could even play to Flint’s advantage: the men mistrust him, think him inhuman, but if they saw that he was like everyone else, someone with not just a kept woman inland, but a _soulmate,_ it would make him something close to normal.

“I’m just wondering where you and I stand,” Silver says, quite reasonably. 

“Keep wondering,” Flint retorts, indifferent, and it’s like a slap to the face.

With the amount of _bullshit_ Silver’s put up with from Flint, it’s all he can do not to start yelling. The only reason he remains silent is that he doesn’t want Gates to make his life any more difficult than it already is. And despite how angry he is with Flint, he’d never share such personal information without his consent. He wouldn’t have even told Max, if he’d known at the time that Flint wanted to keep their soulbond quiet.

His hands are tied, and he’s left to stomp from the cabin like a sullen child.

*****

Silver’s never been as grateful to have his colors as when he’s diving off the Walrus, chasing after Flint. The captain's hair is like a beacon through the water, glinting in the sunlight and easy to spot even as the saltwater stings Silver’s eyes. 

It’s frightening, though, when they finally reach the shore and he strips off Flint’s shirt to see nothing but red: seeping across Flint’s chest; his hands slipping in it as he tries to stop the bleeding. 

He doesn’t bother masking his panic when he sees Howell in the distance, calling out to him frantically. It doesn’t matter that Howell was conspiring with De Groot to kill him not three days ago; he’s not losing his soulmate, especially not because of that fucking rodent _Dufresne_. 

He’s heard so many old wives tales over the years, ones that claim when one half of a soul bond dies the other’s colors begin to fade. Suddenly, he’s terrified that they were all true. Silver’s not about to lose his colors. Not when he just got them, and not before he even gets to know anything about his soulmate. 

“If you survive this,” Silver mutters to Flint’s unconscious body as Howell reluctantly makes his way over, “you and I are going to have a fucking _talk_.”

They don’t have a talk, of course, but Silver figures they can do that on their way to St. Augustine or wherever Flint is planning on escaping to. He hopes Flint will appreciate that he was smart enough to catch onto his scheme. 

But Flint seems to thrive off pulling the rug out from under Silver, and so he instead finds himself following his unhinged soulmate into the water and swimming toward a fucking warship.

“Do as I say when I say,” Flint says snatching the rope from Silver, “or I’ll kill you myself.”

“Don’t worry, I plan on surviving this venture,” Silver replies, brushing off Flint’s bad attitude (getting in the mindset for any probable fights, he assumes). “I like that blue jacket, and I fully intend to return for it.”

He gets buffeted by a small wave soon after, and so he misses the questioning glance Flint shoots him at his words. What he doesn’t miss is how very nice Flint’s straining thighs look as he climbs up the rope. 

Silver’s not blind: Flint’s attractive. Just because he's being difficult doesn’t mean that Silver can’t appreciate what the universe supposedly made for him.

Of course, Flint undercuts his attractiveness by holding a knife to Silver’s throat not five minutes later.

Silver’s just about had his fill of these empty threats of Flint’s; there’s no _point_ in keeping up appearances when it’s just the two of them. Beyond that, having a dagger against one's neck is never a pleasant experience, no matter if Flint is going to follow through or not.

*****

When all is said and done, Flint and Silver are relegated to a small storage room in the hold while the men drink and celebrate their success. For all that they’re no longer at risk of being executed, the pair of them are not well-liked or trusted; Dufresne surely thinks it’s better to keep them secluded as much as he can, for fear of Flint or Silver worming their way into any of the men’s heads. They’re given one lantern, one hammock, and one set of spare bandages (from Howell), so that Silver might replace the bloodied, sea-damp ones around Flint’s shoulder.

Silver dawdles as Flint lights the lantern, fidgeting with the fabric of the bandage nervously. How strange, that this very afternoon he’d held Flint in his arms, dragged him to safety as his blood stained his hands, yet now that the panic of the moment is gone, he hesitates. 

This feels so much more intimate with Flint awake. He was safe from Flint’s keen, assessing eyes back on the beach. Now it’s just him, Flint, and this tiny, cramped space. 

It’s the pained grunt Flint lets out when he tries to take off his shirt that finally prompts Silver to act, helping him remove the garment and then gently pushing him to sit on the hammock. Flint eyes him warily as he starts to peel off the dirtied bandages, but he allows it to continue, so Silver counts it as a win. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it,” Silver says, gesturing to the streaks of blood caked on Flint’s skin. He mostly says it because he can’t handle the silence, not knowing what Flint’s thinking.

“Used to what?”

“The colors. At first I couldn’t believe how people just went about their lives with the sky looking like that, when it was so easy to just stop and stare. But this…. it’s so _red_ , isn’t it? It’s almost unsettling. Blood never used to bother me like this.”

“If you can’t handle a little blood,” Flint replies, though not meanly, “then perhaps you should look into a new profession.”

Silver chuckles. “I don’t intend to be a pirate for very long.”

Finished with his work, he tosses the dirty rags into the nearest corner, then crouches down to take off his stolen boots. When he bends back up from taking his shoes off, Flint hasn’t moved.

“Come on, budge over,” Silver needles, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. Now that neither of them is in any immediate danger, he’s about ready to drop. At Flint’s incredulous look, he rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, have you grown accustomed to private lodgings as a captain? Too good to share a hammock?”

Additionally, he thinks, they’re _soulmates_. Silver doesn’t think he needs to remind Flint that most people would have done more than share a hammock by now. 

Flint grumbles a bit, but does in the end roll onto his good side, facing Silver. Silver, who is both aware of how he looks and not above dirty tactics, whips off his shirt for good measure before climbing into next to the captain. 

For a moment they simply stare at each other in the dim light of the lantern, Silver’s arm tucked under his head and Flint’s resting near his chest. It hasn’t slipped his notice that Flint’s eyes keep flitting to his chest, his collarbones. 

“You know…,” Silver starts, smirking a bit. “We could - ”

“We absolutely could not.” Flint cuts him off. 

Silver sighs and turns over, his back to Flint. “Suit yourself,” he mutters, and leans over to blow out the lantern.

There’s a part of Silver that’s almost grateful Flint doesn’t seem interested in anything more, almost relieved. 

Sex is a means to an end, a way to get to what he wants or charm his way out of a tight spot. The thought of being intimate with someone and having it actually _mean_ something - the thought that Flint in theory is supposed to want him as he is, with no strings attached - frightens Silver more than he’d ever admit.

*****

Silver only wakes once in the night, startling awake at the feeling of a weight on his chest.

When Idelle had first pushed him down, back with Max and the other girls, there had been a moment of sheer, unadulterated panic, where he’d been transported back to the last time he’d been in such a situation, under much less pleasant circumstances. It had only been the feeling of Idelle’s much smaller hands grasping his own that had brought him back to the present.

The point is, he doesn’t like being held down. Never has.

But this time? The panic is gone almost as soon as it comes. As soon as Silver remembers it’s Flint pressed up against him, his instinct to flee, to get _away,_ is gone. It's as though the recesses of his mind have already classified Flint as _safe_ , someone who, though threatening in nature, will not actually hurt Silver.

Silver must have rolled onto his back during the night, and Flint, seeking warmth or comfort in his sleep, has ended up curled around him, head nestled against his chest and bad arm draped low across his waist. How Flint didn’t wake from the pain of moving his shoulder like that, Silver doesn’t understand.

Being like this, so close he can feel Flint’s breath ghosting across his skin, the scratch of his beard against his chest, is not what Silver expected. Flint has never struck him as the type to - well, snuggle, in his sleep, it’s true but what’s truly thrown Silver is his own reaction to this impromptu intimacy. 

He should feel uncomfortable with Flint clinging to him like some sort of mollusk, trapped in this hammock. He should be scheming, thinking of ways to use this apparent weakness against Flint to further his own gain. He could be smug, he supposes, knowing that even if Flint refuses to acknowledge their bond awake, asleep his body seems to know that he and Silver are meant to be intertwined in some way.

But all Silver feels is settled. Like some ever-tense, ever coiled knot in his stomach has loosened after years of being pulled taut. It feels _right_ , being so close to Flint, like the way their chests rise and fall in tandem is proof that they are two halves of one, a give and a take.

He barely knows Flint, hardly even likes him at times, and yet Silver is already dreading the thought of the captain waking and leaving his side. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

Or perhaps Silver’s just been alone for too long, and now that he’s received any shred of affection he’s desperate to keep it.

It’s probably both.

*****

Bruises are uglier in color, Silver decides as he glances at his reflection on a battered, disregarded pot in the hold. Before, they were only a slightly darker shade of gray than the rest of his complexion. Now he can see a milieu of truly ugly colors, dull blues and greens below his eye.

His plan to win the men over will work, he’s sure, but for now he supposes he’ll have to be content with learning the less aesthetically pleasing side of having his colors.

“What color would you say this is?” He asks Flint, not bothering to look up at where the man is standing in judgment over him. “This bruise.”

“Surely you’ve been punched in the face often enough to know what color a black eye is.”

“But it’s not really a _black_ eye, is it? That’s just what people who don’t have their colors call it.”

Silver’s become preoccupied with the semantics of colors, lately. How the sky and the sea are both blue, yet not at all the same. How different the brown of Joshua’s skin is to Max’s, yet equal in richness. How Flint’s beard is technically the same color as his hair, yet so much _brighter_ , like burning fire next to smoldering firewood. 

“Silver, I could not give less of a fuck. We have more important things to focus on than your vanity.”

“It’s not vanity, it’s _curiosity_ ,” Silver retorts.

Flint lets out a weary sigh, as though Silver’s very existence is some sort of test to his fortitude. But in the end he does lean over, grabbing Silver’s chin in his hand and peering at his eye. “It’s maybe a slightly blacker, darker shade of seaweed green. Is that good enough for your _curiosity_?”

Silver nods, not bothering to smother his pleased grin. Flint may complain, may grumble, but even this small indulgence is more than Silver has grown to expect. He’s making progress with him, slow and agonizing though it may be. 

Perhaps Flint isn’t so indifferent to this soulmate business after all.

*****

It’s after Hornigold threatens Flint’s captaincy that Silver’s world falls apart.

“The gold is still a priority. You have my word,” Flint assures him. Silver recognizes this expression, though; it’s that same earnest, solemn face Flint wears when he’s trying to win someone over, regardless of his intention of following through. He's seen him use it on Hornigold, Dufresne, and even Gates, before his untimely death.

Flint, is lying. Silver knows Flint is lying. _Flint_ probably knows Silver knows Flint is lying. Perhaps just this once he can push his luck.

“Well, how can I trust your word?” Silver asks.

Flint frowns, leaning back in his chair. He doesn’t respond, merely raises a brow and stares Silver down with barely concealed impatience.

“We’re allies now, of course, but I still hardly know you. You’re still the aloof, vicious Captain Flint to me.”

“So what, you want to _get to know me_?” It sounds like that’s the last thing on earth Flint would want to do.

“It’s much easier to follow a man than a monster,” Silver replies, choosing his words very carefully. That Flint cares about how people perceive him, that the being the villain in the simple minds of the men _bothers_ him, was one of the first real things he'd learned about the captain.

Flint sighs, crossing his arms. He seems more resigned than irritated though, so Silver counts it as a win. “What do you want to know?”

“What was it like for you? When you first saw your colors? What was your first thought?” 

To anyone else, his question would be a gross breach of privacy. Scandalous, even. But Flint isn’t anyone else. No matter how much of a closed book he’s been on this, it’s still Silver’s right as the man’s soulmate to ask. Frankly, Silver can’t understand why they haven’t had this conversation yet. It’s usually one of the first things soulmates bring up with each other after they meet. 

But Flint bristles at the question, as though he couldn’t possibly understand why Silver would be asking this now, of all times. Because heaven forbid Captain _fucking_ Flint talk about his feelings for even a moment. 

“Why do you want to know that?”

“It says a lot about a person, I’ve always thought. Everyone’s so different; we all focus on the oddest things.”

Flint is silent for a time, just observing Silver, as though if he just stared hard and long enough he might parse some ulterior motive. Eventually, he seems to accept his fate.

“I suppose I didn’t pay much attention to the colors, at first - I was so taken aback. No one ever really expects it, of course, but in truth I hadn’t given the idea of soulmates any real thought. Once I got over the initial shock, though, all I could think was that I’d been misled.”

“How so?” Silver asks. He realizes he’s been leaning forward a bit too eagerly, and so he - subtly as he can - shifts back, trying to adopt a nonchalant pose. 

Flint hums, his eyes far away. “I’d always been told, by those who’d already found their other half - colleagues, landlords, superiors - that I wasn’t missing much. That England was just as gray with colors as without. So when it happened, all I could think was that London was so much brighter than I'd been lead to believe.”

Something cold settles in Silver's stomach, starts to drag its way up his throat.

“London?” Silver interrupts, baffled. 

Flint smirks. “Is it so hard to imagine me in civilized society?”

Silver tries to respond, but he can’t seem to get any words out.

Flint continues, still looking amused. “Of course, I understood later. When I first arrived in Nassau some ten years ago, the contrast was astonishing. London was nothing compared to the Caribbean.”

Under any other circumstance, Silver would be impressed at how little Flint had actually shared about himself while discussing something so deeply personal. None of the details are anything Silver didn't already know: he'd guessed that Flint had been in the Royal Navy early on in their acquaintanceship, and it'd been easy enough to discover when he'd started his stint as the most feared captain in Nassau. Flint's ability to deflect away from any real details is almost as impressive as Silver's own skills. 

Silver does not consider any of this.

Instead, he stares at Flint in stunned silence as the implications of his words fully sink in.

Ten years. Flint has had his colors for _ten years._

_Nothing changed for him on that day. He looked at Silver, and nothing happened at all._

Flint’s behavior these past few weeks suddenly makes a hell of a lot more sense. He hadn’t been rejecting Silver or ignoring their connection at all: to Flint, Silver is just another pawn, no more important than Billy or Dufresne.

Silver isn’t Flint’s soulmate; apparently, the captain met his other half while Silver was still having fucking growing pains. 

But how? How could that possible be? He’s never heard of a person whose match is one sided. It seems too cruel, even to Silver, whose life has been nothing but one cruelty after the next.

He thinks he might be sick. The urge to vomit is almost as strong as his sudden need to cry. One thing is certain: he has to get away from Flint. He can’t process this blow while staring his not-soulmate in the face. 

“I see,” he says eventually, after a pause that stretches far too long. “Well, thank you, I suppose.”

He smile he pastes on his face feels strained, like the mask he’s tried on at this particular moment is too tight, bending and cracking as his pain tries to peek through. Silver stands, goes to leave, but Flint calls out to him when he reaches the top of the stairs.

“And what about you? What did you think?”

Silver almost doesn’t answer, knowing now that Flint isn’t asking as his _soulmate_ , but his acquaintance, his captain. Flint’s mild, detached curiosity feels like a slap in the face. Still, fair is fair.

“I guess I was just relieved,” Silver says, unable to look back at Flint. “To know that I wasn’t going to be alone after all.”

He walks away before Flint can respond, scrubbing the back of his hand over his watery eyes.

*****

There’s nowhere he can go but the brothel. For all that the men have been slowly warming to him, he’s under too much scrutiny to trust that he’ll have a moment in private. 

Flint told him not to stop until he has the votes they need, but if Silver doesn’t find a place to hide and just - process what’s he’s learned, he won’t be able to function; he’ll just be walking in an emotional fog, the vote far from the first thing on his mind.

He should be thrilled to see that Max has assumed the role of Madam. He should be horrified at the sight of his armorer dead on a bloodied bedroom floor, should be panicked at what losing Logan - a very popular member of the crew - would mean for the vote.

He doesn’t feel much of anything right now.

Together he and Max come up with a story for Logan and Charlotte, some bullshit about them running away to live out their days blissfully in love. In exchange for his silence on their deaths he asks for a room he can hide in for twenty minutes or so.

It’s this request that gives Max pause, makes her stop and take a good look at Silver. “Are you all right?”

He shakes his head. He doesn't think he could get the words out, even if he wanted to. “Max, I appreciate it, but...”

Max frowns, but leaves him in peace, and for that he is unspeakably grateful.

Silver has twenty minutes, perhaps half an hour at most before his absence is noticed, and he has to in that time somehow come to terms with the fact that he was always destined to be alone.

It had been easier, somehow, to think that the problem was Flint’s. To think that Flint was merely mistrustful or reluctant and that with time Silver could change his mind, prove him wrong. But this? There’s no changing this. 

How can he win Flint over if Flint was never his to win?

Flint is meant for him, of this there is no doubt. There is no denying that it was the captain who gave him his colors. This means, of course, that the problem lies with Silver. He’s broken, somehow.

Silver is so unworthy of love, it seems, that the universe itself saw fit to ensure he’d never be forced upon anyone. 

It’s then that the first sob breaks loose, ripped from Silver’s chest without his consent. His knees buckle, and he leans his weight against the closed door, sliding down until he can curl in on himself while he weeps.

It’s humiliating, infuriating; he hasn’t cried like this since he was a _child,_ for fuck’s sake. Flint certainly isn’t worth Silver’s tears, that’s for sure, but -

Silver’s a cynical man, a pragmatic man, but he wasn’t always. No matter how desperately Silver tries to bury him, no matter how many times he’s reinvented himself and started anew, some part of him will always be that lonely boy at St. John’s. And that boy - that miserable, _pathetic_ boy - clung to the idea of a soulmate. A person meant only for him, who wouldn’t leave like his brother or abandon him to some dark place like his father or hurt him like Mr. Baldwin at the orphanage or fucking _die_ like his mother - 

One who wouldn’t mind that he wasn’t special, that he came from nowhere and had no one but himself. One who would actually _want_ to talk to him, no matter how strange his funny accent seemed to the other boys. One he could trust with all of him, even the parts that Mama had made him promise not to tell.

Perhaps it’s the small, smothered part of Silver who’s still that boy that’s crying now, for all the dreams that Flint’s just dashed. 

It’s for the best, he knows. A soulmate - especially one as volatile as Flint - would only hold him back. He’s never needed anyone before, and he certainly doesn’t need anyone now. 

He heads back to the beach.

If he feels any guilt over lying about the gold, it vanishes as Flint reminds him how little he means to the captain.

"Those men listen to you. They give a shit about what you have to say," it does not escape Silver's notice that Flint does not include himself amongst those who give a shit. He might matter to the men, but he’s inconsequential to Flint. "Where else in the world is that true? Where else would you wake up in the morning and matter? You walk out on this, and where the fuck are you going?

Flint's word seal his decision.

The sooner Silver gets the gold, the sooner he can get the fuck out of Nasssau. Where the fuck is he going? As far as he can get from Flint, and the hollow feeling that spreads in his chest when he looks at him.

*****

**Author's Note:**

> title from the musical if/then.
> 
> i'm sorry this isn't being posted as one complete work - it'll be done either tonight or tomorrow morning, but quite frankly when one of your relatives is ailing your priorities shift.


End file.
